I wrote your mom a long and rambling e-mail today, Muriel.
Both of us seem to be struggling with accepting/understanding that you are no longer here with us.
I want to revert back to being three. I want to act like my daughter and stomp my foot and say, "It's not fair."
If only that would make you come back.
You are so loved. You are so missed.
24 March 2010
26 January 2010
Dear Muriel, (very rambling)
This still hurts.
Every day, I wake up and it's like I have to accept your death again, every day. It's surreal. I just cannot wrap my mind around the fact that you are not here. Why? It's not fair. Yeah, yeah, I know, trust me. Life isn't fair. But my god, how could this be real? I mean, seriously, almost every single morning, I wake up and during my little morning routine, have to think "did I dream this or is Muriel really dead?"
I always wish I dreamed this as a painful and haunting nightmare. Sometimes, for a second, I find myself almost convinced I had to have dreamed this. A death like yours, Muriel, it just makes no sense. And again, I know, I know--when does life make sense? If life doesn't make much sense, how can death make sense to us?
But I want it to. I need it to make sense. I have this horrible sense of incompleteness, and nothing is helping me.
This weekend, I did something I had never done before. I went to your grave with some books in hand, and read out loud fragments of Heraclitus and Euripides. I felt closer to you for a little bit. Foolish, too, but I thought "Hey, if you can't appreciate the Ancient Greek, then at least you can laugh at me." I suppose that's why a million books of mine are strewn across our coffee table: Aristotle, Plato, Margaret Atwood, Chuck Pahalaniuk, Epictetus....I turn to philosophy to heal. It's become so obvious to me over the past couple of years that I majored in philosophy not just because I love it, but because it offers me a way to heal from wounds you can't see. Philosophy empowers me. Ancient Greek inspires me and reminds me why I should bother to live.
Oh, Muriel...your mother and I were remembering how I always loved the myth of Demeter and Persephone. As a high school-er, I related to Persephone. After my abortion, I related to Demeter.
And now that I have a daughter, I relate more and more to Demeter. How she fought to bring her daughter back from the Underworld. How she stood up to the gods who, honestly, were jerks and betrayed her. How she brought everyone to their godly knees to get her daughter back. And I ache for Demeter, I ache for your mother, Muriel.
There is no way back for her.
I ache for my own mother. She fought so hard to save me from my illness, time and time again. Depression wears many masks with me; starvation, suicidal thoughts...I have been so close, Muriel, SO CLOSE to ending it all before.
Why didn't I? And why did you die? Maybe you'd chuckle with me and say, "Oh, you're such a philosopher, always asking 'why'." I don't know, though. I don't know the details of your death, and I don't need to. But I need to give voice to the feelings I have that somehow I failed you. I could have been a better friend.
I should have...
I could have...
If only...
These are the thoughts that haunt me. The memories of you--from cheerleading camp (yes, really!) to talking to you on the phone during my time at FSU...these bring me comfort.
I'm just haunted that I should have/could have been more to you.
It's just that my heart aches, having known so much of the pain that you experienced in your life. And how much you helped me learn. And I feel...no, I know you deserved better. From me. And I'm just so sorry I wasn't there for you more as a friend, in general.
The world is a much darker place without your smile. You live on through so many people, and if I do have another child that happens to be female, I would seriously consider naming her after you. I always loved your name.
And I will always love you.
Every day, I wake up and it's like I have to accept your death again, every day. It's surreal. I just cannot wrap my mind around the fact that you are not here. Why? It's not fair. Yeah, yeah, I know, trust me. Life isn't fair. But my god, how could this be real? I mean, seriously, almost every single morning, I wake up and during my little morning routine, have to think "did I dream this or is Muriel really dead?"
I always wish I dreamed this as a painful and haunting nightmare. Sometimes, for a second, I find myself almost convinced I had to have dreamed this. A death like yours, Muriel, it just makes no sense. And again, I know, I know--when does life make sense? If life doesn't make much sense, how can death make sense to us?
But I want it to. I need it to make sense. I have this horrible sense of incompleteness, and nothing is helping me.
This weekend, I did something I had never done before. I went to your grave with some books in hand, and read out loud fragments of Heraclitus and Euripides. I felt closer to you for a little bit. Foolish, too, but I thought "Hey, if you can't appreciate the Ancient Greek, then at least you can laugh at me." I suppose that's why a million books of mine are strewn across our coffee table: Aristotle, Plato, Margaret Atwood, Chuck Pahalaniuk, Epictetus....I turn to philosophy to heal. It's become so obvious to me over the past couple of years that I majored in philosophy not just because I love it, but because it offers me a way to heal from wounds you can't see. Philosophy empowers me. Ancient Greek inspires me and reminds me why I should bother to live.
Oh, Muriel...your mother and I were remembering how I always loved the myth of Demeter and Persephone. As a high school-er, I related to Persephone. After my abortion, I related to Demeter.
And now that I have a daughter, I relate more and more to Demeter. How she fought to bring her daughter back from the Underworld. How she stood up to the gods who, honestly, were jerks and betrayed her. How she brought everyone to their godly knees to get her daughter back. And I ache for Demeter, I ache for your mother, Muriel.
There is no way back for her.
I ache for my own mother. She fought so hard to save me from my illness, time and time again. Depression wears many masks with me; starvation, suicidal thoughts...I have been so close, Muriel, SO CLOSE to ending it all before.
Why didn't I? And why did you die? Maybe you'd chuckle with me and say, "Oh, you're such a philosopher, always asking 'why'." I don't know, though. I don't know the details of your death, and I don't need to. But I need to give voice to the feelings I have that somehow I failed you. I could have been a better friend.
I should have...
I could have...
If only...
These are the thoughts that haunt me. The memories of you--from cheerleading camp (yes, really!) to talking to you on the phone during my time at FSU...these bring me comfort.
I'm just haunted that I should have/could have been more to you.
It's just that my heart aches, having known so much of the pain that you experienced in your life. And how much you helped me learn. And I feel...no, I know you deserved better. From me. And I'm just so sorry I wasn't there for you more as a friend, in general.
The world is a much darker place without your smile. You live on through so many people, and if I do have another child that happens to be female, I would seriously consider naming her after you. I always loved your name.
And I will always love you.
25 January 2010
Celebrate and Remember
I know a couple of us have been writing to Muriel, or at the very least talking to her in our heads.
I wanted to have a place where we could all share those memories. A place to collect and gather those memories. A place to celebrate the beautiful person Muriel was.
That's basically the purpose of this blog; to share, to connect and to celebrate Muriel.
I wanted to have a place where we could all share those memories. A place to collect and gather those memories. A place to celebrate the beautiful person Muriel was.
That's basically the purpose of this blog; to share, to connect and to celebrate Muriel.
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